* The few lines of French dialogue will be translated at the end of the chapter
24 YEARS EARLIER
Oliver brushed down the thin lapels of his gray Gotham Academy blazer, giving himself a complimentary wink in the silver-lined bathroom mirror. It was the first day of his tenth-grade year at Gotham Academy (thanks to his stellar repertoire of somehow managing to get kicked out of French boarding school again) and Oliver, in his opinion, thought he looked sexy, for lack of a better color palette.
The grays and blues of the GA uniform weren't exactly "his" style— he always preferred something a little flashier— maybe a deep magenta or forest green (definitely green, his mom always said it brought out his eyes) but he couldn't lie, he was pretty damn hot in navy. Maybe he should wear it more.
Oliver had a very simple plan for his first week, which didn't involve any academics whatsoever, because weren't American schools all about partying, anyway? At least that's what he'd seen in movies. (Cut him some slack, he'd been stuck in a brick-covered French dormitory with ten other roommates for the last five years, what was he to know about the social hierarchy of America's schooling system?)
First: look hot, check. The next steps were to find the "head honcho's" of the sophomore class (and if his movies were correct, then they'd be in the form of disgruntled, rude, roided-out football jocks) intimidate them, steal all of their pretty girlfriends, throw the sickest parties at his empty Star City mansion— courtesy of his parents always being gone and traveling out of country— then become the most popular guy ever.
Easy.
He walked out of the bathroom and offered his best smile to passing groups of students also adorned in uniforms. He received several weird looks, not that Oliver minded. He'd found that, for whatever reason, his personality and outgoing exuberance were not always well-received by most people at first. But Oliver Queen didn't struggle to make friends, and he knew that once his classmates realized what a catch he was, they'd all definitely love him.
His first impression here was important, his parents had told him before they took off for some flight to who-knows-where. Gotham Academy wasn't just another one of his random private schools— it was home to some of the brightest young minds on the East Coast, and had the privilege of educating a few pretty famous people.
The last name Wayne— the Queen's long-time family friends— suddenly brushed across Oliver's mind. His old pal Bruce would probably be in attendance here, shouldn't he? They were in the same grade, and if what Oliver remembered was correct, Bruce's father once also attended the Academy. Bruce always liked to do what his father did.
Oliver wondered for a moment if Bruce was one of the so-called "head honchos." The blond shook his head. From what he knew about the prodigal son of Gotham, Bruce didn't seem like the type to play football or party, or have friends at all, for that matter.
A particular group of students caught Oliver's eye, pulling him from his thoughts. It was a small crowd of probably six or seven boys, with a brunette guy in the center, telling some story with a smirk. He had curly hair and matching brown eyes, a white smile and an expensive-looking leather book bag slung over his shoulder.
That seemed like a good place to start, all things considered.
Oliver pushed his shoulders back and approached the crowd, their conversation falling silent as the boy in the center gave him a strange look.
"Can I help you, Blondie?" The brunette had a certain taunt to his voice which made a few of the other boys snicker.
Oliver's smile didn't falter as he held out his hand. Thank God he still remembered appropriate American greetings. "Name's Oliver."
The boy raised an eyebrow and simply stared at Oliver's extended limb. "Johnny Prescott. Still didn't answer my question."
Oliver let his hand fall. "It's my first day. I'm looking for who's in charge."
Johnny gave him a skeptical look. "What, you want the principal or something?"
"No," Oliver drawled in a 'duh' tone. "Who's really in charge here?"
One of the boys hummed out an oooooh. "I think he means Elias."
A chorus of snickers erupted from the group once again and Johnny made a face that Oliver couldn't quite decipher. "What do you want with Elias?"
Judging by the way the brunette seemed to be acting, Oliver assumed this Elias guy was the person he was looking for. Oliver shrugged. "Just looking to make some friends."
"Friends?" Johnny scoffed out. "Good luck with that. The only person Elias ever hangs out with is Pretty Boy."
Oliver furrowed his brow. Elias and Pretty Boy. Why did kids in America refer to each other so... bizarrely? There was such a thing as first names, after all. "Ahuh... well, would you mind pointing me in their direction?"
Johnny rolled his eyes. "Listen, Blondie. I don't give a crap what those two idiots do, and you shouldn't either. Even if I did, I don't keep track of where they are. Now get the hell out of my face."
Oliver was somewhat taken aback, but couldn't respond before another boy answered the question.
"They're usually in the courtyard at lunch."
Johnny shot that boy a glare.
"Yeah." Another laughed. "Prolly makin' out."
So Elias and Pretty Boy were... dating? Not that Oliver judged, but in his movies, the head jocks of the class typically didn't fall in love with each other.
The group burst into chuckles and Johnny rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Pretty Boy Can have Elias if he wants. No one else would date that stuck-up bitch."
The bell rang throughout the halls and the formerly stagnant groups of chattering kids drifted off towards the cafeteria for lunch. Oliver watched as the boys walked away sparing him so much as a glance, and he furrowed his brows.
Most of the students seemed to be heading in one direction, so Oliver assumed that would be the way to finding Elias and Pretty Boy.
He trailed off after the rest of the hallway traffic, now slightly more reserved after his run-in with Johnny. He noticed most of the kids walked together in groups, not paying attention to anything else except for the hushed whispers in their respective circles. It was a worldly difference from Oliver's time in France, where everyone welcomed everyone and there was no such thing as "cliques."
As Oliver rounded a corner he suddenly slammed into a figure. The blond took a step back, "je suis désolé" immediately leaving his lips as an instinct reaction. Before he had time to chastise himself for slipping up and speaking in French, the other figure was muttering a low "it's fine" and striding away.
It took Oliver a second to process the familiar deep blue eyes and strong brow dusted by wisps of jet-black hair. Oliver immediately stopped, widened his eyes in realization, and spun around on his heel.
"Bruce?" He called to the back of the other boy, who halted and turned in confusion.
Low and behold, it was none other than Bruce Thomas Wayne, Gotham's prodigal son, in the flesh. He looked just how Oliver remembered him—pale skin, dark hair, light eyes, and a look on his face that said "leave me the hell alone." He was taller now, maybe had an inch or two on Oliver, with sharper features and, from what the blond could tell, appeared rather lean beneath his charcoal gray GA blazer.
Oliver assumed Bruce was running through his memory, trying to figure out where he knew the shorter boy from. Oliver decided to save him the hassle.
"I'm Oliver!" He gestured to himself. "Queen? We, uh, used to be—well, our parents used to be friends." It seemed better to lead with that, just in case Bruce thought he was a weirdo.
Bruce seemed somewhat startled as recognition washed over his face. Oliver could tell the other boy didn't experience that often.
"Oh, Oliver, right. I remember you—uh, what are you doing here? I thought you went to France."
There was a certain reservation to Bruce's voice—not the bitterness that Johnny had, but Oliver got the impression that Bruce didn't truly care about the answer to that question. Oliver appreciated the cordiality, though. Bruce was the first person in four periods to not give him a bizarre glare or call him some strange nickname.
"Yeah, I did!" Oliver deemed Bruce worthy of a bright grin as the blond closed the large gap between them. In Europe, no one had many qualms regarding personal space, but Oliver quickly noticed that Bruce shifted uncomfortably at the sudden closeness. Oliver took a step back, keeping a smile. "I just moved back actually. I, uh, kinda got kicked out."
Bruce nodded his head slowly, apparently not picking up on Oliver's light tone like the blond had anticipated. Oliver's smile faltered slightly as they fell into an awkward silence, expecting Bruce to have a response, but receiving nothing.
Bruce was never much of a conversationalist, he suddenly remembered. But that was certainly no issue for Oliver Queen, who could run his mouth about any topic for any length of time. The shorter boy reinforced his smile once again.
"So, it's my first day here! Which is really exciting, except my classes are kinda a bore. Sorry for bumping into you, again. Also for the French—it's been a weird adjustment going back to English full-time. Do you speak any other languages?"
Bruce nodded. "Yeah, um, a few."
"Oh, awesome! French?"
Bruce nodded again.
"That's so cool! Je n'ai encore rencontré personne qui le parle."
Bruce turned his head up slowly in understanding, eyes awkwardly darting to the ground.
They began to fall into silence once again, but Oliver quickly filled it. "Anyway, I'm looking for someone, and I was hoping you could help me, since you've been a student for a while. His name's Elias— he's apparently supposed to be a big deal around here."
For the first time in the conversation, Bruce's face switched from a polite stare to a quizzical one. "Elias?"
"Ya, he hangs out with some other guy named... Pretty Boy, I think?"
Bruce's brows furrowed in what looked like annoyance, and Oliver was slightly taken aback. Did he say something wrong?
"Who did you talk to?" Bruce asked, shifting his book bag on his shoulder.
"Uh, some kid named Johnny. Why?"
"Oh." Bruce's tone fell flat, and he now appeared blatantly irritated. "Are you... friends with him?"
"Not really. I just ran into him in the hallway. No offense, but he seemed kinda like a... what's the English word for it?"
"Asshole?" Bruce offered.
"Yeah," Oliver chuckled slightly. "That. He called me Blondie. And, personally, I think my hair looks better than his, so I don't really know what he was trying to say."
That got a quirked lip out of the otherwise stoic boy, and Oliver did all but beam.
Oliver's attention was suddenly pulled by another figure storming down the hall in their direction. It was a girl, probably their grade, with dark brown hair and pretty eyes. She was adorned in a gray blazer and navy plaid skirt, anger plastered all over her face, which was evident by the way oncoming students moved to the side as she passed.
"She's hot," Oliver noted to Bruce, gesturing with his chin in the girl's direction.
Bruce turned around, took one look at who he was referencing, and all of Oliver's hard work to get that one tiny smile out of Bruce spiraled down the drain.
Bruce turned to him with irritation once again. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Oliver didn't understand what he did. "Wha—oh. Am I using that word wrong? I just meant that I think she's attractive."
"No, you used it right." Bruce's voice was clipped which left Oliver astronomically lost.
The girl's gaze suddenly narrowed in on the two of them and she marched in their direction.
"Bruce!" She called as she stopped in front of them. Her eyes were a light shade of blue from up close, Oliver noticed. "What happened to the GAIA meeting this morning? You told me you were going to come this time."
Bruce gave her what Oliver took as a guilty smile of sorts. "I was late getting to school today."
"Oh, bull. Alfred's never late." She opened her mouth to say more before she met eyes with Oliver. "Who's this?"
"Oliver." He held out his hand. "And you are...?"
She glanced down at his extended arm, and for a moment Oliver thought she was going to do what Johnny did. After a few seconds, she returned the gesture. "Meredith Elias."
Meredith Elias. Elias. Elias...
"Wait," Oliver turned to Bruce, who had a knowing look on his face which confirmed Oliver's suspicions. "You're Elias? And... and does that make you Pretty Boy?"
Bruce's expression didn't change, but Meredith gave Oliver the same "are you a weirdo?" look that he'd gotten from everyone else that day. This girl was the elusive head-honcho, top-of-the-class, Elias?
"I thought you were a guy!" Oliver stated with surprise, which, in retrospect, was probably not the right thing to say if he wanted to build a good first impression.
"Excuse me?" Meredith's voice immediately dropped into one of defense, and Oliver didn't like being on the other end of her glare.
From behind him, Oliver heard the quiet sound of a stifled laugh from Bruce, who Meredith immediately turned her look towards.
She took a step towards Oliver and held out an accusatory finger. "What, are you the newest member of Johnny's bitches, or something? Well, I'll have you know Oliver, that Bruce and I don't interact with second-class citizens—"
"Meredith," Bruce interjected, sounding somewhat amused. "You've met him before."
She furrowed her brows.
"This is Oliver—"
"I know his name, Bruce. I have ears."
"—Oliver Queen."
Oliver wasn't exactly sure what Bruce did, but he was grateful for it as Meredith's mouth immediately snapped shut, and she stared at the blond once again. A smile suddenly broke on her face.
"Oh my gosh, Oliver Queen! I didn't even realize it was you, we met at Bruce's birthday once. How are you doing?"
He was severely taken aback by the sudden mood swing, looking to Bruce for help, who just rolled his eyes at Meredith. Something in Oliver's brain clicked at that moment— memories of a young, shy girl in Wayne Manor greeted his thoughts— Meredith Elias.
"Oh, uh, yeah! Meredith, I remember! I'm, um, doing... good. I was just telling Bruce how I moved back and—"
"That's great!" Meredith smiled as she cut him off. "So, how are your parents? And the company? I actually heard recently that they just had a tech division merger with Furnsby and Co. That's pretty impressive, you know, First East Coast conglomerate to have a partnership with Trevor, and all."
"Uh," Oliver cleared his throat. "Yeah! They're also good. The company is... fine, too, I guess? I honestly don't keep track with most of what's going on."
"Oh, well, that's okay! I'll catch you up to speed." She smiled with affirmation, and Oliver gave her a confused look back. She... was going to "catch him up to speed" on his own family company?
"So," she continued. "I'm president of the GAIA—Gotham Academy Investment Association—and you'd totally fit right in. Everyone would love to have you! There's a meeting on Wednesday morning, I'll even get breakfast catered for you."
Oliver nodded slowly. "Right, um, sounds... great!"
She gleamed back. While he was confused about what the hell was happening, he liked her bright smile. Also, now that he was jogging his memory of the girl, he suddenly remembered that... shit, didn't Bruce used to like her?
Oh damn. That's probably why Bruce got so defensive when Oliver called her hot—of course Oliver would piss off the first guy who was genuinely nice to him by calling his girlfriend hot, and compare her to a man.
Meredith pulled him from his thoughts. "Wednesday we're going over hedge funds, do you have any interest in them?"
"Oh, no, sorry, I'm not really a big plant guy," Oliver replied kindly.
Her face fell and from next to them Bruce chuckled quietly. Oliver immediately felt bad. She was obviously very passionate about her club, and he didn't mean to insult her.
"But I'd still love to come!" Oliver quickly added. "I also don't know a ton of people, so making some more friends would be awesome."
Her eyes lit up once again. "Okay, amazing! Everyone will be so excited to have your parent's company—uh, and you, too!"
Before Oliver had time to question anything, Meredith was starting to walk away.
"Well, anyway, Oliver, it was so fantastic seeing you, and I would absolutely love to talk more, but I'm actually getting picked up right now to attend one of my father's work conferences—if I knew I was seeing you today I would've reserved you a spot, but next time you can count on it. I'll see you tomorrow at lunch, then?"
Oliver nodded with a bright grin, which Meredith seemed to enjoy. "Definitely."
"Wonderful!" She clapped her hands together. "See you then."
She turned around, tugged Bruce down by his navy tie, whispered something in his ear, and then disappeared down the hall. Once she was gone, Bruce stood up straighter and fixed his tie, slight exasperation lacing his features.
"Sorry about that," Bruce commented. "She's very... passionate about what she does."
"No, if anything I'm sorry—I didn't mean to call your girlfriend hot earlier. That's super not cool of me."
Suddenly Bruce was flushing a pale pink and widening his eyes. He dropped his still-crooked tie back onto his crisp white undershirt. "What?"
"Well, I said that Meredith was hot and you got upset—"
"I-I wasn't upset!"
"Oh, I just thought—"
"And she's not my girlfriend."
"Oh. Sorry, I remembered that you used to like her and I just assumed—"
"I was six. You can think whatever you want of Meredith, I don't care."
The blond fell silent for a moment, taking in the way Bruce crossed his arms and glared at the wall behind Oliver.
Oliver tilted his head. "So... you don't think she's hot?"
"No!"
"Oh, so you think she's ugly."
"Wha—no, I didn't say that either!"
"Ooohh," Oliver hummed. "I get it. You like her, but she doesn't like you back."
"I. Don't. Like. Her."
"Hey, don't stress, dude. I lived in Paris, city of all things romance for the last five years. I can totally help you get her!"
"I don't even want her!"
Oliver opened his mouth to respond, but the sound of the bell cut him off. He narrowed his eyes. "We'll continue this conversation later. What class do you have next?"
Bruce looked relatively relieved to be off the chopping block for the time being. "Math."
"Oh, me too! With who?"
"Uh, Rogerson."
"Hey, same!" Oliver playfully nudged the other boy's shoulder, and while Bruce looked a little uncomfortable, he didn't decline the gesture. "Looks like we'll be continuing our conversation a lot sooner than I thought."
"Wonderful," Bruce drawled sarcastically as he led Oliver back down the hall.
* * *
A month had gone by, and Oliver felt relatively settled into his new school. Going to the GAIA meetings with Meredith proved to be worthwhile, because Oliver got an awesome breakfast three times a week, and everyone there also seemed to be a big fan of him and his last name.
Surprisingly, while Oliver was never one for academics, he actually enjoyed learning more about what his parents did and the company he was going to one day inherit. Meredith always did her best to make sure he was well-versed in everything they were going to talk about at each meeting—which gave Oliver a lot of cred with the upperclassmen in the club, and also impressed his parents when he called them on weekends.
Aside from the GAIA, Meredith herself turned out to be one of Oliver's closest friends. He appreciated her dedication and passion, and the way she was able to keep up with his quick mind, a feat that not many could achieve. (It also didn't hurt that she was in fact very attractive, but she was off-limits because of Bruce, even though the boy would never admit it.)
Bruce, at least by Oliver's standards, was his best friend. Oliver found it easy to rekindle the friendship they had when they were younger, although sometimes it took a little pushing to get Bruce to open up and participate in conversation. Ironically, Oliver found his favorite attribute of Bruce's to be his sense of humor— it was witty and a little obscure, but once Oliver caught on to Bruce's jokes, he found himself chuckling and bantering with the dark-haired boy all throughout the day.
His issue with Bruce, however, was that Bruce never wanted to hang out outside of school. Ever. Oliver invited the boy to a million and one events: golfing, watching movies, going to sports events, even just simply getting pizza, all because Oliver genuinely enjoyed Bruce's company. But every time he brought something up, Bruce immediately said he was busy or changed the topic or just made up a random excuse to get out of it but not hurt Oliver's feelings.
When Oliver asked Meredith about it one day, she said not to stress too much and that "Bruce was just a private person." Which was true, Bruce was very private, however, Oliver liked to think that he knew the dark-haired boy a little better than most of their classmates, and that he deserved just a little more trust.
But of course Meredith would tell him not to stress, because Bruce was over at her house, or vice versa, all the time.
Which was totally fine, because Oliver knew that Bruce was definitely secretly in love with her and Oliver was one hundred percent in support of Bruce pursuing that, but... sometimes it would be nice if Bruce wanted to do something with him once in a while, too.
Oliver walked up the stairs in Gotham Academy's newly-built student center and pulled open the large glass doors to the library. He scanned the room, passing through groups of students before he spotted a lone, dark-haired boy near the back of the long row of tables.
"Hey," Oliver greeted as he approached him.
Bruce looked up from whatever textbook he was currently reading. "Hi."
"This seat taken?" Oliver gestured to the chair left of the other boy.
Bruce shook his head.
With a smile, Oliver slung his book bag off of his shoulder and sat down in the wooden chair. Bruce turned back to his textbook as Oliver opened the top of his bag and pulled out a piece of chewing gum.
The crinkle of the wrapper drew Bruce's attention, who furrowed his brows. "You're not supposed to eat in here."
Oliver popped the red-colored ball into his mouth with a shrug. "Only if you get caught."
Bruce rolled his eyes and began reading once again.
After a few chews of the gum, Oliver glanced at the book. "What'cha readin?"
"Chemistry," Bruce muttered.
"Ohhh," Oliver hummed, leaning his arms against the table. "You have a test soon, right?"
"Thursday," came another low answer.
"Ah. So, I guess that means you're gonna be busy studying all week then?"
"Yeah."
"Man. Bummer."
They fell into silence, listening to the quiet chatter of other students in the background. Oliver stared around the room, eyes landing on the librarian rearranging jars of pencils near the door. He smirked, an idea coming into his head as he pulled out another piece of gum.
The crinkling of the wrapper drew Bruce's attention once again. Blue eyes popped up from behind his hair, slightly laced with annoyance.
"Another piece?"
Oliver shook his head, jabbing a finger in the direction of the pencil jars near the door. "See those?"
Bruce didn't respond.
Oliver held up the second red ball. "Betcha I could make that shot."
Bruce narrowed his eyes, glancing back and forth between the gumball and the jars. He finally looked at Oliver once again. "No way."
Oliver's brows raised, now excited by the potential challenge. "Wanna bet?"
The dark-haired boy gave him a questioning gaze as Oliver reached into the front of his book bag and pulled out a five-dollar bill, slapping it on the tabletop. "There. Five bucks I'll make it."
Oliver had come to figure out that Bruce, for having quite the reputation as a flippant rule-breaker around campus, was incredibly calculating. In the way that he only started a fight with Johnny Prescott if Bruce knew he could make himself look like the victim, in the way that he strategically avoided people in the hallways who he didn't want to talk to, in the way that he just seemed to know exactly what Oliver was going to invite him to and Bruce somehow had the perfect excuse lined up that Oliver couldn't argue against.
This was another one of those moments, where Bruce seemed to be weighing his options. He apparently deemed Oliver incapable and pulled a green piece of paper out of his pocket. Bruce placed his five on top of Oliver's, who smirked.
To Bruce's lack of knowledge, Oliver was a good shot. The math behind distances and trajectory and speed of travel had just always made sense to him, and honestly, sometimes he was just really lucky. (When he went on cruises with his parents, he was always a hit during darts and beer pong. Oliver unofficially dubbed himself the king of ocean pong, not that he'd ever told anyone that.)
Oliver closed one eye, tongue tucked between his front teeth as he assessed the rather large distance between here and the pencil jars. He drew his hand back a few times, testing out the weight of the gumball, before holding his breath, counting a few beats, and throwing it with a flick of his wrist.
A few seconds later, a small ping! could be heard from across the room.
In one of the jars, along with sharpened pencils, laid the gumball.
Oliver, trying to keep the grin off of his face, looked back at Bruce, who now had the textbook completely shoved off to the side as he stared across the room with intrigue.
Bruce narrowed his eyes, sitting against the back of his chair. "Lucky shot."
"Ha!" Oliver jeered quietly. He reached down into his bag again and pulled out another five, dropping it into their expanding pile of money. "Care to make our wager a little bit sweeter?"
Bruce hesitated for a moment, eyes now gleaming with a mischief that Oliver hadn't seen on the other boy thus far, before placing his second five into the pile from his pocket.
Oliver breathed out a laugh before grabbing his last gumball and opening the wrapper. He could care less about the money (he was Oliver Queen, for crying out loud) but he rarely ever got such a genuinely positive reaction from Bruce, so Oliver was determined to make this shot count.
He followed his steps from last time, tongue underneath his teeth, measured how fast he'd have to throw this one in order to pull off what he wanted to, and threw the ball.
As he'd hoped, the red candy bounced off of a nearby table, hit the back of the wall next to the door, and ping! into the jar.
This time he couldn't keep the smirk off of his face. He turned back to Bruce, who had his brows raised in surprise.
"Thank you, thank you," Oliver chortled as he swiped the twenty dollars off the table. "I'll be here all night."
"How..." Bruce trailed off, eyes still on the jars. "How did you do that?"
Oliver shrugged as he pocketed the money. "Kinematic equations. Helps you find the velocity and acceleration of an object. I think they also use it for planes and flight times and shit. Here, I'll show you." Oliver grabbed a loose piece of paper and pen, scribbling some of the formulas onto the page. "See?"
Bruce had a look of genuine interest on his face as he studied the numbers. He closed his chemistry textbook. "And you just... did that in your head before you threw it?"
"Eh." Oliver waved his hand. "After a lot of practice it sorta just becomes muscle memory."
A brief pause of silence.
"Then why the hell are you failing math if you can do all of this?"
Oliver shrugged again. "I'm not a big academic guy. I like to do education on my own terms."
"Huh."
Silence.
Bruce suddenly had a face that Oliver would almost describe as hopeful.
"Do you..." Bruce shifted in his seat. "Do you think you could teach me?"
Oliver sat up a little straighter at the mention of the word teach. Bruce wanted Oliver to teach him something. Bruce wanted Oliver to teach him something! Usually, it was always the other way around: Bruce tutoring Oliver in math before a test, Oliver asking Bruce for help in biology, blah blah blah. Bruce had never wanted Oliver's help before, at least until now.
"Sure!" Oliver grinned. "Love to. Although, it might be better if we go outside or something. I don't know if the library is an ideal place to learn how to throw things."
"Oh!" Bruce's face lit up with an idea. "You can just come to my house after school. Are you busy?"
Oliver's heart nearly stopped for a minute. Not only was Bruce asking for help, but he was also inviting Oliver over to his house outside of school? Oliver had to be dreaming. Bruce had never been this blatantly friendly before.
The blond shook his head. "I'm free, but don't you have a test to study for?"
Bruce glanced back to the closed textbook and waved his hand. "I have three whole days. I basically know it all, anyway. I think tonight Alfred's making— you remember Alfred, right?"
"Course I remember Alf." Oliver had missed the British butler's cooking when he first moved to France.
Bruce's lip slightly turned up at the nickname. "Well, I think he's making spaghetti and meatballs tonight, if that's alright with you."
Oliver's mouth nearly started watering at the mention of the food. With his parents out of the country and Star City not exactly within driving distance of Gotham, Oliver had been living on campus for the last month. Which was perfectly fine by him, since it just meant he didn't have to get up very early to make it to class, but the food got a little bland after a while. "Are you kidding? I haven't had a home-cooked meal since... probably... before I went to Europe. I'd die for Alfred's cooking, seriously! That man could make me dirt and I'd eat it."
That got a small chuckle out of Bruce just as the bell rang. He started to get out of his chair. "Alright, I'll let him know you're coming. I'll meet you after school, then?"
Oliver nodded eagerly. His friendship with Bruce had just progressed a thousand years in the last ten minutes. "Yeah. Definitely."
As Bruce grabbed his bag and textbook, Oliver stood up and cracked his back, feeling his stomach rumble. The end of the day could seriously not come any faster.
* * *
French Translation
Je suis désolé = I am so sorry
Je n'ai encore rencontré personne qui le parle =
I have not met anyone who speaks it yet
* * *
Hello everyone! This was a long chapter, very Oliver/Bruce centric because I adore their friendship <3 In other news, I decided to spend almost half a paycheck on $200 worth of Justice League comics... worth it I think lol??? Would love to hear your thoughts on this chapter! Thanks for 15k :)
xo Alexa